


A Princess Best In Black

by Yeoldesoul



Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, Gen, How Do I Tag, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeoldesoul/pseuds/Yeoldesoul
Summary: A young princess decides that if her kingdom doesn't want her, she'll find one that does.





	A Princess Best In Black

**Author's Note:**

> First work posted here on AO3. A little older, but still one of my favorites.
> 
> Comments appreciated!

It was hard to say just how she’d gotten into this situation. It wasn’t as if she were unprepared for kidnappings, ransoms, and all that—it went with the territory of being a princess of a land surrounded by powerful adversaries—but she certainly had never figured herself as one to want to be whisked away.

Of course, the fact that she was standing in a floor-length gown with more crystals on it than there were cursed frogs in a witch’s swamp may have helped things along.

Or not—But it was definitely a possibility.

Either way, her ladyship thought she looked rather dashing with her hair swept up and her every move marked by a certain glint of light from the black fabric and even blacker stones. While she would have preferred something a little brighter—hot pink and lime green, perhaps?—it wasn’t as if a land known for its of-the-earth gems, gloomy demeanor, and long-lasting nights would really have those colors in a ready supply.

Maybe she should have held out for more than just a part of world conquest and mindless destruction when she’d agreed to marry the so-called “Demon King” of the west. But, just like with most things, it was too late to regret it.

Besides, she could ask for all sorts of things when she was queen… which would be soon, if she could just tear herself away from the mirror and the pretty light effects of her dress.

When her entourage entered her chambers, the soon-to-be-queen straightened her shoulders, stuck out her chest, and marched out of the room with a scowl—some signs of distress and reluctance had been agreed upon in their table cloth contract and, if the princess was anything, she was a woman with a flair for the dramatic and a love of upholding contractual agreements.

As she slowed, sped up, slowed again, and such toward the Grand Hall, she couldn’t help but think of the agreement that her family had broken.

As the first born child, she was meant to take up the throne and guide her country to a glorious future. She’d gotten quite a head start on it, too, with elixir stands during the ogre attacks of her childhood and even more so with various programs and plans during her brief lifetime, all of which had earned her praise and admiration from the masses. Her room was always a-burst with letters of love and adoration, and an assortment of presents that would make any marketplace trader plot with envy.

But then her brother was born, the eighth child in a family of far too many hormones and cat fights.

Overjoyed by the birth of a boy—like that was really something to be proud of—the king and queen named him the heir to the country. Booting her physically from the palace would have been less humiliating, but the princess was a survivor and the Demon King a man of opportunity. He and his men had been sneaking toward her bedroom window, awaiting nightfall, when she stumbled upon them. After that came the whisking, the wining and dining, the contracting, and all that.

As kidnappings went, everything up until the princess’ entrance to the Grand Hall had been all well and good, but it was not nearly as well and good as the decorations for the wedding. Dark crystals covered every surface, magical orbs hovered this way and that as they broadcast the event across the kingdom, and no horned face or glowing eye was without a hint of glee.

The princess caught herself before she smiled and pretended to turn back and flee, allowing herself to be caught before she’d gone too far.

As her entourage herded her to the altar, she winked at the Demon King—who blushed, how cute—and just for good measure, she cast a glare over the crowd before sticking her tongue out at them. It earned a few chuckles and boosted her mood.

Perhaps this land was not as moody as it first appeared.

At last, as the ceremony began, she caught sight of herself in the silver chalice on the altar before them and decided that black really was her color.

* * *

The war table conversation had devolved into debates about the latest horn stars and who was mutilating who in the twenty-ninth book of Six Hundred and Sixty-Six Hues of Evil when the Demon King leaned over to Queen’s side.

“Isn’t this all a bit… much?”

Queen—who had decided to change her name to her title after she’d been hard pressed to declare her marriage vows in the most grief-stricken voice she could muster given the stars of excitement and joy exploding in her body—gave her husband a strained smile. Despite being a “Demon King,” she often found him entirely too relaxed.

Neighboring countries had gone un-pestered for ages and there was hardly a foul word to be said of him until she had begun her campaigns of conquest. It was simply unacceptable.

Plus, her brother would be turning seven soon and she needed a present for his birthday, which she would be attending with all due flair and fanfare. Everyone else would be bringing the usual—enchanted horses, elves that told awful jokes on repeat, blessings that turned anything eaten into dessert—so Queen needed something extravagantly special.

The beating heart of the magic of the northern-most continent would do well enough.

The king touched her hand. “They love you just as you are. There’s no need to go overboard.”

Queen glanced at him and sighed. “Guards, see my husband to the dungeon.”

The room grew silent and only the king’s surprised squeak of “what?” kept the queen from wondering if she’d accidentally frozen time on them all again. Such a wonderful memory, that.

“Now, if you would,” she said with a wave of her hand when no one bothered to heed her command. As the guards lifted her husband from his chair, she shook her head. “I am the _cool_ sister. Surely you understand how much pressure comes with that.”

The General of the Army, a scaly man with a scar across his eye that looked like a daisy, leaned over and patted the queen’s hand sympathetically. “Just wait until you’re an aunt—my wife says it only gets harder.”

* * *

Eventually all lands but the Queen’s native country found themselves under her control. Once again her rooms were filled with letters and gifts, not to mention potential suitors who hoped that her husband’s extended stay in the dungeons meant an opportunity for quick advancement up the social ladder.

As for the king, he’d taken up wood carving and folk singing, both of which Queen found oddly endearing, though she disliked his decision to permanently reside in the dungeons—more dank, dark, and damp than the rest of the castle and much homier than anywhere else, he claimed.

And so after conquering the lands of the gods, becoming immortal and loved by her peoples, Queen remained the cool sister (and eventual aunt), and ruled frightfully ever after.


End file.
